


i think you think i'm intimidated; contemplating taking stabs at your back but i don't need to

by Zoadgo



Series: Kinktober 2018 [14]
Category: The 100 (TV)
Genre: Canon verse, Deepthroating, F/M, Manipulation, Sadism, Violence, blowjob, breath play, dubcon, face fucking, no discussion of limits
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-10-14
Updated: 2018-10-14
Packaged: 2019-08-02 02:16:01
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,955
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/16296356
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Zoadgo/pseuds/Zoadgo
Summary: Clarke knows that Madi and her need more protection than what they currently have. War is looming, and she’s certain she’s on the winning side, but she needs to be certain they won’t turn on her once there’s no longer a greater threat. After a few hours agonizing over how to make herself more useful to a group of thugs, Clarke’s first, stupid idea still reigns as best.She knows there’s no time to delay and come up with something better, which is why Clarke finds herself leaving in the dead of night, making her way to the home McCreary had claimed for himself. There are guards outside, but they let her pass with nothing more than a few suggestive looks. Of course, because why else would she be going to him in the middle of the night? Clarke can think of a million reasons, but the simple minded criminals aren’t exactly wrong in this case.





	i think you think i'm intimidated; contemplating taking stabs at your back but i don't need to

**Author's Note:**

> [title song](https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=YhuqeL_uSKM)
> 
> Day Fourteen of Kinktober and the prompt was **Asphyxiation**! Y'all know I love me a good violent McCreary fic. Apologies for any errors, I'm editing the next few myself to give my beta some time off for real life stuff!
> 
> [tumblr](http://jonnmurphy.tumblr.com)
> 
> **Please mind the tags. This fic isn't going to be for everyone. Do not read if you do not want to read the acts described in the tags.**

Clarke knows that Madi and her need more protection than what they currently have. War is looming, and she’s certain she’s on the winning side, but she needs to be certain they won’t turn on her once there’s no longer a greater threat. After a few hours agonizing over how to make herself more useful to a group of thugs, Clarke’s first, stupid idea still reigns as best.

She knows there’s no time to delay and come up with something better, which is why Clarke finds herself leaving in the dead of night, making her way to the home McCreary had claimed for himself. There are guards outside, but they let her pass with nothing more than a few suggestive looks. Of course, because why else would she be going to him in the middle of the night? Clarke can think of a million reasons, but the simple minded criminals aren’t exactly wrong in this case.

McCreary is still awake when she walks into the main room, sitting on the edge of his bed and flipping through the notebook that never leaves his side. He looks up at the scuff of her boot, brow curving in silent question.

“Clarke to what do I owe the pleasure?” McCreary speaks with an easy laziness that shows exactly how little of a threat he views her as. Normally that would irk Clarke somewhat, but right now, it works in her favour.

“All alone?” Clarke looks around the room significantly, stating the obvious. McCreary, for his part, simply gestures to the emptiness as way of answer. Clarke hums thoughtfully and walks over to one of the walls, making show of inspecting the knicknacks there. “You’re the leader, and there’s plenty of attractive enough women out there that you could choose from. Don’t tell me you’re still hung up on Diyoza.”

“Hardly. In fact, if that bitch weren’t carrying my baby, she’d be long dead by now,” McCreary spits. Clarke has no reason to doubt him, and there’s a certain sort of lust in his voice when he talks about killing Diyoza. She can imagine hardly anything would make him happier; pain and death is his bread and butter, after all.

“Really? Then why not find someone to replace her?” Clarke inquires, keeping her voice carefully neutral, never looking directly at him. She can’t be too direct with this, otherwise he’ll guess the intent behind her actions. Even so, he probably will, but she can’t risk being seen as desperate.

“Too many…” McCreary trails off with a frown that Clarke sees from the corner of her eye, “Complications. Too much at stake to have some woman getting the wrong ideas. Not now.”

“There wouldn’t be complications with all of them,” Clarke suggests, still as calm and cool as if talking about farming reports or the weather. 

“Why the sudden interest in my sex life, Clarke? What, are you… volunteering?” McCreary narrows his eyes at her, obviously suspicious. Clarke stops her idle wanderings about the room, finally turning to look at him directly with her arms crossed over her chest.

“And if I were?” She challenges him with her gaze and her words, hoping he’ll rise to the bait. 

He does so beautifully, standing and crossing the room to stand a step closer to her than he needs to. Clarke tilts her head back to keep her eyes locked on his, and she has to admit, even though this is purely political, he’s not physically repulsive. Perhaps a bit on the rougher side than her past partners, but Clarke’s intrigued by the dark and gritty more and more these days.

“Then you’re dumber than I thought. You know I don’t care about you or your little kid, and you’ve seen how I treat things I don’t give a shit about. You really want to open yourself up to more of that?” McCreary warns her, eyes searching her face for… what? Regret? Fear? He won’t find anything like that. Clarke knows what she’s doing.

_You might not care, but you might need. Or want. Whatever I can get._

“I’m not scared of you, McCreary.” Clarke’s voice is even, unshaken by his paltry attempts at intimidation.

“So you are stupid.” McCreary sneers, and in a flash, his hand is around Clarke’s throat. 

He squeezes, not enough to cut off airflow, but enough to be somewhat concerning. Clarke’s heart races, and she swallows against his grip. Okay, maybe she didn’t know exactly what she was getting into, but she’ll be damned if she backs down now. Clarke holds his gaze, defiant, and after a moment McCreary releases her with a scoff, crossing back over to his bed and sitting on the edge of it with his legs spread.

“What are you waiting for?” McCreary gestures at his crotch, brusque and vulgar, “My dick isn’t gonna suck itself.”

Clarke hesitates, brow furrowing. She had been offering sex, but the sudden change from warning her away and choking her, to demanding she gets on her knees is a bit much for her to keep up with. McCreary cocks a brow, leaning back.

“Don’t tell me you’ve got cold feet now. And after all that talk about not being scared.” McCreary tuts, shaking his head.

Clarke feels a flush creep onto her cheeks, much as she might try to will it away. She takes a deep, grounding breath as she crosses the room, sinking to her knees fluidly between McCreary’s thighs. She looks up at him, wondering if he’s going to give her any direction or rules or anything, but he simply looks at her expectantly. Not like he’s waiting for to start, though; like he’s waiting for her to back down.

Clarke’s competitive side rears its head in a flash. Seriously, backing down from a simple blowjob, just because the guy she’s sucking off is a mass murdering sadist? He doesn’t even rank in her top ten things to be afraid of. Wasting no more time, Clarke runs her hands up the inside of McCreary’s thighs, palming him through his pants when she reaches his crotch. Not gentle or teasing, a firm declaration of intent. She doesn’t imagine he’s much of one to enjoy the finer things in life, anyway.

Clarke massages him a few times until she can feel a certain stiffness growing behind the heavy canvas. McCreary huffs a breath out through his nose, and he looks incredibly self satisfied when she glances up at him. She’s certain that no matter what, he wins in this situation. If she runs away, like he likely expects, then he’s proven he’s a terrifying monster. If she doesn’t, he gets off. Win win for McCreary, which Clarke imagines contributes to his erection as much as the pressure and friction she provides does.

Clarke smiles a little to herself at that thought as she undoes his pants, opening the front and being confronted immediately by the sight of his half hard cock. No underwear, then. Well, that works in Clarke’s favour, given that McCreary makes it exceedingly obvious he’s not going to do a damn thing to help her. It’s one less thing to deal with, as Clarke maneuvers the clothing enough to properly free him.

Clarke gives his dick a few dry pumps, feeling blood rush there in response. Without further delay, she leans in, dragging her tongue up the underside of it. He doesn’t taste as bad as she would have expected from the greasy state of his hair, simply sweat and skin. He stiffens against her tongue, and Clarke is struck for the first time by the fact that McCreary is well endowed. Like, bigger than anyone she’s had before. Perhaps not by much, but still, Clarke finds a sort of thrill running through her as she works him to full hardness.

Clarke wraps her lips around the head of him when his cock is hard under her touch, flicking her tongue over the slit there to swipe away the precum. Tangy and salty, but not bad at all. Clarke’s always sort of enjoyed it, if she’s being honest, and her body responds despite the circumstances. If this were anyone else, she might even moan a little, at the size and heady taste of him in her mouth. But Clarke doesn’t let herself get caught up in the act; she can’t, it’s too risky.

McCreary huffs another breath when Clarke sink down a little, testing the strain he’ll be on her jaw, and how far she can comfortably take him. She can tell almost immediately that if she doesn’t get him off fast, her jaw is going to get sore quite quickly. But she’s confident enough in her abilities, and if McCreary hasn’t been with anyone since before cryo sleep, hopefully that will give her some mercy.

Clarke shifts her tongue on the underside of his cock as she pulls back, dragging it along a different part of the sensitive skin with each bob of her head. McCreary grunts when she swirls it around the head, one of his hands making its way into her hair. He holds the back of her skull, rather than twisting his grip in the hair itself, and Clarke sort of hates how good it feels. It’s been too long since she felt this, being desired by someone else so much to the point that they can’t keep their hands off of you.

When Clarke’s sinks down again, McCreary forces her a bit further, so his cock sits against the back of her throat. Clarke is thankful she doesn’t have much of a gag reflex, but it still doesn’t feel the most pleasant. She’s not keyed up enough for that peculiar pressure to feel good. Not yet, anyway.

McCreary holds her there for a moment, and Clarke lets him, breathing through her nose. He only lets her back off for a few inches before he stills her head, and then he presses her back down with hardly a break. He pushes her further, testing Clarke’s limits. Clarke takes him as well as she can, but McCreary keeps pushing even when he hits resistance. Just a little bit more, a quarter of an inch, but it’s still enough to makes Clarke’s throat burn and her eyes water.

She heaves breaths in through her nose when he allows her to back off a few inches once more, and she clues into the game plan here. McCreary is in control, and he’s going to remind her of that. Clarke should feel angry about being used like some kind of a sex toy, but as he presses her down once more, even further, she feels that emotion only as a distant echo. She tries desperately not to get caught up in everything, but twisted pleasure courses through her all the same as her throat quivers around him.

It’s overwhelming, his firm grip on her head, fingers digging into her scalp, cock filling and stretching her throat beyond reason. Clarke feels like she’s simply along for the ride, only able to try not to choke or suffocate. The struggle to take his entire length sends little sparks racing through her, settling in the heat building in her core. She can’t say exactly why it feels good, but it really does, in a way. It’s uncomfortable as hell, but it’s also incredible.

While Clarke is focusing on breathing with McCreary’s dick still lodged in her mouth, his free hand makes its way to her throat. She doesn’t even realize its presence until he squeezes, fingers digging cruelly into tender flesh. Her brain struggles to comprehend the input for a moment, and by the time she understands what he’s doing, he’s pressing her back down again.

A primal part of Clarke struggles, then, as he chokes her inside and out. He holds her in place with iron strength despite her vague jerking, his laughter hollow against the pulsing of her own blood in her ears. Her face feels hot, blood trapped there with nowhere to go, and her lungs burn. She squeezes her eyes tight, unable to do anything, feeling tears leak out of the corners.

And then, just as true panic begins to set in, McCreary releases her, entirely, not just a few inches this time. Clarke flies off of him, gasping for air and coughing. She should be furious, or disgusted, or anything other than what she actually feels. As oxygen rushes back into her, it feels incredible, like a successful hunt, almost like a climax in and of itself. She can feels wetness flood between her thighs, and a part of Clarke hates it, but another delights in it. It’s awful, terrifying, and yet she craves more of it.

Clarke coughs once more, her breathing barely under control, and wipes her mouth with the back of one hand. She looks up at McCreary and sees him smiling wide. He likes hurting her, like seeing her suffer and struggle. Well, unfortunately for him, pain and suffering are old friends of Clarke’s. He won’t be the first to break her, no matter what he does.

Clarke returns her mouth to his cock unprompted, and she’s unsurprised when his hands resume their previous marks. The one on her throat constricts immediately, like he can barely resist the urge to choke the life out of her. It should be awful, yet Clarke angles her head to give him better access to her neck. The bruising pain of his grip mixes with the hot pleasure inside of her, flowing deep and dark through her veins.

McCreary barely has to force her head when Clarke sinks down again, simply holding her in place. This time, she’s ready for it when he cuts off her airflow. She counts through it, listening to the beating of her heart. Around the count of twenty, he lets her go once more, and Clarke heaves breaths, but doesn’t pull all the way off of him.

“Looks like you might have something to offer after all,” McCreary laughs above her, and impotent anger flashes through her for a moment. She has plenty more to offer than this, but that doesn’t matter to him, she supposes.

A few more times, they repeat the cycle; Clarke sinks down to the base of his cock, nose nestled in his pubes, and McCreary fakes at killing her. Each time he lets her live is a rush, and Clarke finds herself craving it. She almost lets a moan slip out, once, as her lungs receive the life affirming air they’ve been denied. She almost forgets the purpose of this, caught up in the slide of his cock down her throat, the controlling touch of his hands on her.

McCreary begins to make more noises above her; not moans, but heavy breaths and sharp grunts. He’s not loud or talkative, but perhaps that’s a side effect of being a prisoner. Lord knows if anyone got up to anything in the Skybox, they would have had to have been exceptionally quiet about it.

Clarke sinks down to his base once more, and McCreary clamps down on her throat. But instead of holding her head in place, he fists his hand in her hair. With a sharp tug that makes her scalp tingle with a sensation that probably would have been pain at any other time, McCreary pulls her head back. Just a few inches, then he force it down again. He repeats the action rapidly, still clamping down on everything vital in her neck. 

The sudden changes - the frantic thrusting of his cock in and out of her throat - is hard to adjust to, especially as the world begins to fade to the heavy pulse of her heart and a deep burning throughout her body. Clarke’s throat tries to reject him, and she fists her hands on his thighs, trying desperately to hold on. Keeping her jaw open, throat relaxed, all as her vision goes a little gray around the edges.

With one last grunt, McCreary releases his stranglehold on her neck and slams her head all the way down. It feels like fire as he cums down her abused throat, and Clarke desperately tries to balance swallowing and breathing. It’s not as easy as it sounds, and Clarke is moderately impressed she doesn’t somehow die in the process. After the last drop of cum leaves McCreary’s cock, he releases her, pulling her off of his dick. Clarke practically collapses to the ground, slumping and coughing violently. Tears sting her eyes, but she manages to get herself back in order fast enough.

When Clarke can breathe rather than gasp, she straightens her hair and clothes. She decides to tuck McCreary’s cock back into his pants, since he seems more than content to leave it exposed, watching her with an amused expression.

“Well, aren’t you just the noble volunteer, hm? Have fun explaining those bruises to your kid,” McCreary chuckles, and Clarke’s hand flies to her throat, fingertips hovering over where she knows there will be marks. Although, knowing how angry Madi is at her, she probably won’t even ask. It would be for the best.

Clarke pushes herself to her feet without another word. As she leaves the room, she just hopes it’s enough, that McCreary enjoyed himself enough he might keep her around for this, if nothing else. The thought weighs heavy on her mind, but her obsession is interrupted just as she’s about to leave.

“Come back tomorrow night.”

It’s a gruff command, but it soothes Clarke’s worries somewhat. As long as he keeps wanting her the next night, they’re safe. And, as Clarke strokes the damaged skin on her neck, she has to admit it really wasn’t all that awful.


End file.
